


Never Fight Fair

by Mad_Mage



Series: Under a Weirwood Tree [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Attraction, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Were the three top buttons on his shirt actually missing? Sansa leaned reflexively closer to catch a better look. Then she swallowed and averted her gaze when Lord Bolton noticed her staring at him. She fanned herself with the book when he sent her a smirk and a wink.---The first story in the series features a handsome deceiver, his not so unwilling victim, and a truly northern tradition.
Relationships: Roose Bolton/Sansa Stark
Series: Under a Weirwood Tree [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729138
Comments: 29
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.  
> \---  
> Welcome to my newest series in which our favorite couples will steal kisses under blossoming weirwood trees. Short chapters as usual due to my injury. I planned to write this since after Christmas – so I really couldn’t help myself here – and I’m sorry that I’m not at my best, but I hope you don’t mind and you’ll have fun :)

The day was unusually hot and the fair was in full swing. The courtyard of Winterfell was bursting with people milling around the stands with various foods and hand-made goods. Everyone was enjoying the fine weather as they trampled all over the grounds. The Starks had opened up their ancestral home to the public just a few short years ago and since then, they organized the biggest historical crafts festival north of the Riverrun within the castle walls to promote tourism in the area.

This was the biggest event of the year, the opening of the season, but Sansa enjoyed the monthly traditional craft fair much better – it was smaller and less crowded. She was currently sitting on a bench in the shade and tried to read her book. She usually liked the chaos, loved the sounds and smells, and typically laughed with her siblings and mingled with other people… but today, she preferred to focus on the book – or least that’s what Sansa told herself stubbornly.

Her eyes kept straying to her right. Constantly. Maddeningly.

She was hopelessly distracted and with a sigh, Sansa closed her book and succumbed to the temptation that particular corner of the courtyard had to offer.

Her brother Robb and their cousin Jon, both dressed in historical costumes with padding, were there showing the visitors all the skills a medieval knight or a lord’s son was supposed to have. In other words, these two were hitting each other with wooden swords and laughed their heads off hysterically. Arya was there, too, shooting arrow after arrow at her target and even allowing children to try and hold her precious custom made yew bow. They did not need Sansa to ‘oversee things.’ It was ridiculous and Sansa didn’t know why she had let Jon bully her into it.

Sansa’s family wasn’t the reason why she felt so remarkably hot even in the cool shade, though. Next to them was Lord Bolton lecturing a gaggle of moon-eyed females about the role of horses in the medieval period. She knew because she could hear snatches of his explanation here and there… and by the gods, no wonder that the women were hanging on his every word.

She wouldn’t mind listening to him read out a phone book – but she doubted that the ladies heard a damned word he said. The thing was, Lord Bolton had his sleeves rolled up with his tanned muscular forearms on full display and he was standing next to his prized black stallion, patting the horse here and now and leaning against the animal’s side casually. The most distracting thing was, though, that he wasn’t dressed in a ridiculous historical outfit like Sansa’s demented siblings.

He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, shrugged on a washed-out pair of tight-fitting jeans and the most comfortable riding boots in the world and just left through the door, putting on an old threadbare shirt only as an afterthought.

Were the three top buttons on his shirt actually missing? Sansa leaned reflexively closer to catch a better look. Then she swallowed and averted her gaze when Lord Bolton noticed her staring at him. She fanned herself with the book when he sent her a smirk and a wink and continued with his lecture.

Arya smirked at her and Sansa considered throwing the book at her sister, smelling something fishy here. Had Jon and Arya insisted on her sitting here because they had known Lord Bolton would be right there, being all handsome and distracting? Arya had been especially insistent that Sansa should start dating again – so their parents would let the she-wolf alone and focus on their eldest daughter.

She actually had no idea that Father was on speaking terms with Lord Bolton. They had been arguing about that contested patch of land half-way between Winterfell and the Dreadfort for years but Jon knew him well through his work with horses. To have the man here, joining in the activities, was shocking in itself. Having him here looking like the definition of rugged and being so hot it was ridiculous, was not something Sansa had ever expected to see.

She met him regularly at social functions. He was the serious and soft-spoken Lord of the Dreadfort, dressed immaculately with a clean-shaven face and hard, piercing eyes that always seemed to glare at from across the room.

Sansa wouldn’t have ever guessed what had been hiding under those suits and how much fire could be found in his eyes. She never had paid him much attention because Lord Bolton never seemed to be in the mood for conversation, and it was obviously a great mistake because the view alone was nice.

Tilting her head to the side, she sighed a little dreamily. Horse riding agreed with him, she decided when Lord Bolton kindly turned slightly to smooth his hand down the horse’s neck, therefore offering her a new angle from which she could ogle him.

She just hoped that she wasn’t too obvious.

“Now, since Titan is getting a little restless, perhaps some exercise would do him good. Would any of you fair ladies like to join me on a short ride?” he asked with a smile and scanned his fan club. Then his eyes landed on Sansa and he nodded. “How about the miss at the back with such a fascinating book, hmm?”

Sansa’s cheeks flamed and she could swear that she heard the gaggle of women sigh collectively in disappointment. It seemed that she had failed spectacularly in her pretending to read and he had apparently noticed. Well, damn.

Hearing that suggestion – and the double entendre, no doubt – Robb turned his head to look at her, and Jon hit him right to the side of his head.

“Oh, sorry!” Their cousin cried and rushed to him when her brother crumpled to the ground. He waved at Sansa, gesturing toward Lord Bolton as he leaned down to keep Robb on the ground. “Are you alright, Ser Robb? See? That’s what happened to any knight who got distracted in a fight…”

Before the embarrassment could get any worse, Sansa placed her book on the bench and rose gracefully, quickly joining Lord Bolton’s side.

“Wonderful,” he purred, a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you know how to ride, fair maiden?”

“I’m sure I can put every horse through his paces.” Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what made her say that while she looked right into Lord Bolton’s eyes but she definitely liked the response it sparked in him; he laughed out loud, eyes dancing.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” He offered her his hand to help her up and when Sansa was securely sitting on the horse, he swung himself behind her. His arms went right around her to hold at the reins firmly and before her poor brother could stutter out his disapproval of Sansa’s behavior, the two of them were already trotting through the main gate to Arya’s whistles and Jon’s toothy grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Bolton shares his devious plans with Sansa *grins*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with me and my weird traditions *winks* I already have something in mind for Halloween *chuckles* Now, let’s get back to the story :)

Once they were out of the crowded area, Lord Bolton spurred the horse into a gallop, wrapping one of his arms securely around her waist. Sansa let out a peal of laughter as they picked up speed. She was a competent rider – had been taught to ride as a small child – but she had never before rode with someone other than her family sitting behind her.

They somehow managed to move in total sync with Titan and each other. It was fluid, graceful, exhilarating.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked and Sansa nodded, short of breath. Lord Bolton smelled like soap, freshly cut grass, and rain. He was so very close to her, her back pressed against his front, his lips hovering near the nape of her neck and his hot breath ghosting over her skin with his every exhale.

They left Winterfell behind quickly and Lord Bolton slowed into a walk and put his chin over Sansa’s shoulder to whisper into her ear, “I noticed the way you were looking at me the whole morning. Did you like what you saw, Miss Stark?”

Oh, boy, he must know she did. Arya and Jon certainly had noticed and tried to play matchmaker. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Steering the horse to follow a small stream, he tightened his hold around her waist. “Is there anything I can do to help you decide? Perhaps telling you that I was watching you, too, and I liked what I saw very much indeed?”

“That would put you on the right track.”

“Would it? What else? Do enlighten me, it seems I’m otherwise utterly hopeless.”

Sansa very much doubted it. She had seen the way Lord Bolton had all the women falling over themselves just so they could hear him talk about _horses_. It was hardly that interesting. He was perfectly aware of the effect his rugged appearance had on the opposite sex. There was no need to help inflate that ego of his by admitting that he had her hot and bothered in a matter of seconds. It was one thing to look – but touching, that was something else.

“I’d maybe appreciate if you stopped taking liberties with me, Lord Bolton. You’re not a stable boy and I’m not a tourist looking for a fling on her trip into the northern wilderness.” Sansa placed her hand on his to make a point. Not that his touch was unpleasant – quite the opposite – but she had been raised much better than this and Lord Bolton was making it difficult to think straight.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He did not sound remorseful as he whispered against her ear. “You see, I hail from further north than you, and in the true wilderness up there, there’s this tradition…”

Sansa huffed out a breath of laughter and felt him smirk, so close were his lips to the sensitive area behind her ear. She had a fairly good idea of what he was going to say.

“Is there?”

“Oh, yes. When a man likes a woman he quickly snatches her-” he wrapped his other arm around her, too, “-sits her up on a horse and then just rides and rides until they are far from the maiden’s lands. If he manages to keep her, she’s his.”

“I believe that if the woman kills the man, she most definitely is _not_ his.”

“The attempt makes the wedding night much more interesting, I’d say.”

“So, you have kidnapped me in the wildling fashion, then.”

“That I did.”

“Is this the moment when I start struggling to free myself, or should I wait until we stop for the night?”

“Whatever my lady wishes to do.”

Sansa watched as he led Titan across the stream and they started to return back to Winterfell on the other bank of it and the path would take them through the wooded area on the southwest. Despite their banter, she felt completely safe with Lord Bolton – dozens of people had seen them ride off together, there was no reason to worry about anything untoward happening – unless she wanted it.

Sansa was beginning to believe that she did, she did want to discover how his mouth tasted and how the stubble felt against her skin, she wanted to explore the planes of his body with her hands and her lips. There was just something about this rough, wildling version of Lord Bolton that made her blood sing in her veins with excitement and made her wish that… That she wasn’t Sansa Stark, the perfect daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Arya’s flings were so common that their parents had given up on trying scolding her as long as she’s discreet. Just once, Sansa wanted to be like Arya – free to choose what she wanted to do and with whom.

“I would offer a penny for your thoughts, but I’m sure they are worth much more than that.” Lord Bolton sighed and loosened his hold, putting some distance between them. Sansa immediately missed the closeness, the heat of his body. “There’s something about you, Miss Stark, that made me lose my mind, if only momentarily.”

“Did you want to keep me?” Sansa tried to lighten the mood but wasn’t sure she was succeeding when Lord Bolton remained silent for several moments.

“It was a foolish notion,” he said smoothly, with a hint of a smile that was anything but joyful. “But when you looked at me the way you did, like you wanted me, too…”

Sansa’s heart stopped and she turned her head back sharply. He met her gaze unflinchingly and here he was – the cold, distant lord with piercing eyes that had been observing her from a safe distance for a long, long time. “What a thing to think, isn’t it?”

“But I do.” The thought was out before Sansa could filter it into safer words. His eyes widened and she bit her lower lip. Since the words were already out, she could just as well continue and elaborate.

“I mean, surely you know the effect you have on women when you leave the lord in the closet and put on the wildling.”

Lord Bolton stopped the horse and was staring at her with furrowed brows. To Sansa’s delight and dread both, his hand landed on her thigh and slowly skimmed upward to rest on her waist as he kept pondering over what she had said.

“You included?” His voice dropped and his eyes focused on her lips for a second before flicking up to hers. Her heart was beating furiously in her throat, so she couldn’t speak and had to nod silently.

“Maybe I could keep you after all, then.” Lord Bolton smiled slowly and Sansa shivered at the smoldering heat in his gaze. He leaned in and her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed in anticipation…

But then they were suddenly moving, his arms wound around her tightly and his growl resonating through her entire being.

“Seems we have company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, no kiss here! And Sansa was looking forward to it quite a lot. Who wouldn’t in her place, though? *sighs* Kissing under trees provides cover, Roose, so there won’t be any annoying interruptions. Stop being bashful and get on with it, man.  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there going to be a kiss or is there not going to be a kiss?

Sansa turned her head and saw Robb on the other bank of the stream trying to reach them. He was still in his ridiculous historical costume on his horse. She let out a growl of her own and closed her eyes in utter mortification at her brother’s overprotectiveness and the fact he looked like an idiot. Since the debacle with Joff, Robb had been all brotherly toward her. It was sweet, but it was also infuriating.

“I’m not giving you back,” declared Lord Bolton and spurred Titan to speed up. The black horse lengthened its stride and the distance between them and Robb grew quickly. Sansa was glad that she couldn’t hear what he was calling after them.

She giggled and shook her head, the urge to bury her face into Lord Bolton’s chest was almost overwhelming but it was impossible to do so sitting atop a galloping horse. They arrived at the edge of the Godswood and were forced to slow down.

“He’s going to tell my father,” she said dryly as they reached the first weirwood trees. This time of the year, they were in full bloom. The large blossoms smelled pleasantly and showered them in pink petals as they entered under the canopy and Sansa wondered if yet another northern custom was on Lord Bolton’s mind. She would like a kiss very much and it was a spring tradition after all.

“I’m sure that I can talk Eddard out of a duel. If that fails, he has a greater reach but I have a weight advantage.”

“You would fight my father because of me?” Sansa laughed again. While dueling to death had been forbidden throughout the realm around a hundred years ago, the habit of settling personal scores was very much alive – instead of sword fighting or shooting, lots of aristocrats took up boxing lessons in their youth, especially north of the Neck.

Lord Bolton heaved a sigh. His hands grasped Sansa’s hips, he lifted her, and then he simply turned her around so he could talk to her face to face. His expression was serious – there was only a hint of uncertainty in his eyes but he blinked and it was gone.

“If that’s what you decide you want, Miss Stark.”

He was giving her a choice. She could enjoy the rest of the ride and then pretend that Lord Bolton didn’t make her heart flutter in her chest and breath caught in her throat, that she didn’t want to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers, that she didn’t know he smelled of soap and grass and rain. Or she could just let go and see what could happen between them – if he would keep her and never let go... if she would let him.

Sansa swallowed and darted forward to kiss him. It was a brief peck on the lips only but when she leaned back and looked at his face, he appeared pleasantly surprised, stunned almost. Nobody had ever reacted like that to her kiss. The dumbstruck expression was quickly replaced by a grin and then wrapped his arm around her back. His other hand held Sansa’s head in place as Lord Bolton demonstrated what he considered to be a proper kiss.

It was soft and full of yearning and tender promises. Sansa felt like her whole being was doused in warmth and she was simply melting away into a puddle of bliss. Over their heads, the wind whispered and weirwood blossoms smelled sweetly, soft petals fluttering around them to the ground.

“I think I want you to call me by my first name,” she sighed after they parted. “And continue kissing me.”

“Sansa,” he agreed readily, smiling, and leaned in to obey her second wish.

Eventually, they had to part again when the need to breathe couldn’t be ignored any longer. He smoothed her disheveled hair, placed his palm against her cheek for a second, and then turned her again, urging her to rest against him as he heeled Titan to continue walking.

“Roose?” Sansa whispered, listening to the steady beating of his heart. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”

“For some time.” He sounded comfortable discussing the matter, utterly unashamed of his wants, and Sansa suddenly felt bad for not noticing before the urgency behind his gazes. Was it the age difference? It could make things slightly uncomfortable with certain individuals.

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

Roose splayed his fingers over her abdomen and stayed silent for. Sansa was beginning to recognize the woods, they were getting close to Winterfell again, and she was afraid that he was not going to elaborate.

“I decided that I would rather see if I could catch your interest and made arrangements accordingly.” There was something smug about the way Roose had said it and Sansa supposed that his gamble had paid off.

“So, you mean to tell me that these clothes are borrowed?” she teased and tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. If that was the case, she would probably insist that he should get something similar.

“No, these really are mine.” He chuckled. “Glad you like them.”

“What other arrangements are we talking about here?” Sansa wanted to know what else he had done – apart from the obvious kidnapping and kissing her stupid.

“I might have obtained your cousin’s assistance in exchange for my promise to help out with the fair.” She had been the reason why Lord Bolton had agreed to join in on the fair? Wait, she had been set up by _Jon_? Jon had had to drag _Arya_ into it because the two of them were always plotting their mischief together. They were just was lucky that Sansa was happy with the results of their little schemes.

“You’re not fighting fair, Lord Bolton.” Sansa leaned up and dropped a peck at his jawline. Before she could snuggle into the security of his arms again, he caught her chin and gazed deeply into her eyes.

“I never do,” Roose promised and kissed her softly, making her insides melt once more. Slightly dazed, Sansa wrapped her arms around his middle and sighed, closing her eyes. If achingly gentle kisses were his weapon of choice, she was pretty sure that defeat had never been sweeter. Who knew? Maybe it would be Sansa who would keep him and never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure who won, actually, so I’d say the winner is Arya here. The Stark seniors can now be all scandalized by Sansa’s behavior and pay no mind to their younger daughter’s mischief *grins*  
> Thank you all for reading, and lots of love, Mage :)

**Author's Note:**

> Allow me to blabber on for a moment. In our country, this month is considered the month of love and we have this tradition of kissing under a blossoming tree on the first day of May. The belief is that a girl should be kissed under a cherry blossom so she will not ‘dry up’ and stay beautiful and healthy until the next year. I couldn’t let this opportunity to write tooth-rotting fluff pass me by, so here I am, smuggling kisses and blossoms to Westeros.  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


End file.
